Fall of a Demigod
by Morning Dew
Summary: One Shot. He wasn't just any leader; why, he was Spot Conlon for God's sake! He was practically a demigod with legends that preceded him across the state. Didn't that mean he could handle anyone? Apparently not.


DISCLAIMER: I don't own Spot Conlon or Jack Kelly. If I did, I certainly wouldn't be spending the vast majority of my time writing wishful ficcage of them. Grins I don't own Cheatah either; she owns herself. Takes a bow Thank you.

A.N: This is a one shot for the lovely Cheatah. Smiles I hope you enjoy it, doll!

_**Fall of a Demigod **_

A soft autumn breeze was winding through Central Park with the subtlest of proclivities, rustling golden leaves playfully or thrusting kites into the cloudless day sky with half its might, the day Spot Conlon – esteemed leader of the Brooklyn newsboys – met up with longtime ally Jack Kelly for their weekly stroll in Manhattan. It was a ritual they had established back before they had become the giants they now were, back when playing cops and robbers was a top priority and managing dozens of penniless teenagers with controlled urbanity was not. They upheld the tradition if only to salvage whatever shards of peace were left them, if only to indulge themselves in the few quiet moments spared them when morning editions were sold out and lunch at Tibby's far beyond served.

"So what is it ya wanted to talk about specifically, Conlon?" Jack was about a head taller than his companion, with a more evident build and a less intimidating demeanor. They balanced each other well most definitely. He combed his fingers through his sandy brown locks of hair and affixed those stern gray eyes onto the Brooklyn leader.

Spot moistened his chapped lips to speak. Within the shadows his gray derby hat cast upon his face, his dark enigmatic irises (like gems born of the deep ocean) became distant and reflective. At one point, it wasn't even certain the boy would produce speech, but at last he parted his lips and uttered a single question. "What d'ya know about that girl Cheatah?"

"The one who moved from my lodgin' house to yours?" When the other nodded, he thought for a moment only to shrug in return. What _didn't _he know about her? The two had been best friends for a year ever since she'd run away from home at the age of fifteen. He could recite verbatim the facts of her past; how her father had passed away during their emigration from Ireland, how her brother Cliff had died nine years later, and how the misfortune had coerced Cheatah into following in her mother's footsteps and acquiring a nightly 'past time' as a whore, to put it in the same scathing term she had implied when she'd slowly let the details unravel little by little.

She was friendly if you found yourself in her good favor, and would entertain you with discourse if you simply _had_ to raise a conversation with her. For the most part, however, she drew away from others in all her introverted solemnity, and dwelled upon whatever offenses had befallen her for the day. Naturally, all the while she would devise flawless plans to take her vengeance, for she was a shameless fighter with a malevolent risk-taking temper, and could more often than not be seen tangled in a heap with her most recently acquired nemesis.

Jack smirked when he thought upon all the trouble she'd raised in Manhattan. He couldn't help but wonder if she was giving Brooklyn that same hell. "What'sa matter, Conlon? Havin' a bit of difficulty with the girl?"

"Of course not! What d'ya take me for?" He glowered at the other, but inside he was boiling with the realization of his inadequacies. He wasn't just any leader; why, he was Spot Conlon for God's sake! He was practically a demigod with legends that preceded him across the state. Didn't that mean he could handle anyone? Apparently not. "Well," he said, trying to redirect the question without allowing himself to appear defeated, "I just think she could be less rowdy. A _whole _less rowdy."

"Oh really? How so?"

"Just the other day for example"

_Cheatah loved playing poker. It was one of the few games in life that actually encouraged flat-out lying, and deception was an art she'd been perfecting for years. She received the two cards she'd asked for in exchange for the pair she could do without and added them to her hand, peering at the five cards held tightly by her fingers as if they dictated her future. They weren't playing for money this time, but the privilege of merely winning was greater than any monetary amount. _

_"Alright, moment of truth, tightwads. Time to see who's going to be crowned winner today." Runner Conlon expressed that devious smirk of his and lounged back in his chair as he nodded to each individual around the table to signify their time had come to reveal their hand. By the time he came to Cheatah, the highest quintet of cards had been no more than three of a kind, for whatever twisted reasons. "So, love, dazzle us with ya poker genius." _

_But before she could do so much as to reveal the flush she'd been concocting, Spot sauntered over toward the table in that ever so precious arrogant way of his, and playfully dealt a jab at Runner's arm while he indirectly addressed Cheatah. "Ya know, girls really shouldn't be playin' poker. There's other things y'all could be doin'âsewing buttons on skirts all day maybe?" He smirked cockily at her, then, and craved for a comeback. _

_Her emerald green eyes narrowed at him with such manic indignation, it was a surprise she didn't throw down her cards, leap across the table, and pin him to the hardwood floor where she could continuously take blows at that conceited, pompous face. She was terribly defensive, and would often rush into her anger before taking time to consider it._

_"And aren't there other things youse should be doin' too, Spotty? Like figurin' out how ya plan on enlarging yourself, if ya know what I mean." She blew him a kiss while winking at him, and dealt him a smirk of her own._

_Spot's eyes for a second widened at the words, but he held his own and closed the distance between them effortlessly. "If ya'd like to know the details of that, I could give ya a private demonstration in my room later tonight. I'm sure youse would agree certain aspects of me are bigger than normal." His eyes, though narrowed in the manner he implemented when seducing girls into his fantasies, conveyed an admonition of sorts just as well._

_She only arched an eyebrow at him. "And what would ya know 'bout things that are bigger than usual?" Most the boys seated around let their jaws go slack as they gaped at the bold remark; Runner, as Spot's cousin knowing he'd reap no punishment, burst out laughing. Spot only glared at the girl and they stood glowering at each other unfazed until someone announced the hour for the afternoon editions had come_.

Jack, as Runner had done, indulged in a much needed laughter. The girl had wit, that was for sure. She maintained a ruthless sarcasm that broke more ego's than she was willing to heal. He always had admired that fierce determination in her. "So what, ya mad cause she's one of the few people who actually gave ya a taste of ya own medicine?"

They came to a halt at the bench beside a massive fountain, where their odyssey through Central Park made its end, to rest and speak on important matters. Spot sighed and swiped the hat off his head, running his hand through his dirty blonde locks before taking a seat in a somewhat uptight manner upon the bench. When Jack joined him, he wiped his sweaty palms upon the knees of his breeches as if in thought, and then regarded the elder once more. "I'm mad cause she's got the ability to give me a taste of my own medicine to begin with!"

"Look, Spot, if ya intend on givin' her trouble in Brooklyn, just let me know and I'll take her back to Manhattan. She's had a rough past, alright? She doesn't need trouble with youse to add to it."

"That's another thing," Spot exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air as he reclined back against his seat. "She nearly killed me last time I asked 'bout her past!"

Jack was thoroughly interested by this, though not in the least bit surprised. Cheatah guarded her past like cherubim guarded the Garden of Eden. She'd sooner die before telling anyone about the life she'd led, with exception to Jack of course. He wasn't ever quite sure why she had picked him as the one to whom she'd spill about reality's drudgeries, but in the end, he was truly glad she did. "What did ya say to her?"

"All my boys were in line at the distribution center, waitin' for the papes to be delivered. It could've happened on any perfectly normal day"

_"Maybe I wouldn't –have- to be yellin' as loud as I am if youse'd just shut ya trap for one lousy minute and let me say somethin'!" Cheatah angrily pulled back her light red tresses from her face and tied them into a tight ponytail with the help of a discarded piece of rag she usually donned about her wrist. Then, she stepped up to Spot with fiery intentions and met him eye to eye. With gorgeous irises and freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, she could have very well been a playful broad with little desire to soak the bastard. But her strong build spoke contrary to these shallow pursuits and declared more vehemently a want to wreak havoc. _

_"Who the hell d'ya think ya talkin' to, huh? I'm ya leader, d'ya understand that? Youse'd be damned if ya didn't treat me with respect." _

_"I'd be damned? I'dâI'd be **damned**_!" _Her tightly pursed lips suddenly relaxed as they formed a devious smile from which was emitted a most boisterous laughter. "Are youse kiddin' me!" Wrapping her arms around her lower stomach, she swayed back and forth and ultimately leaned against the brick exterior of the distribution office to proceed in her mirth. _

_"Keep laughin', Cheatah. Ya might attract some customers." _

_Her laughter died down instantly. "What's that suppose to mean?" Her smile faded, as did her humored expression. And though she was Irish and thus naturally of a light complexion, her face seemed more pale than usual. She secured her arms tighter around her waist, as if afraid of exposing some blemish_.

_Spot only shrugged, taking no note whatsoever of her sudden change in demeanor. All he saw was an open target in destroying her pride, and he was more than willing to take advantage of it. "Oh come on, Cheatah. With a body like that, ya can't honestly tell me ya never sold yourself to a guy every now and then. So tell us 'bout ya past, why don't ya. Were ya ever a whore?"_

_The word struck her heart deep, and though hot tears developed in her eyes, she wouldn't shed a single one. "Damn you, Spot," she said softly, as if in a hiss. Then she shoved past him and stormed down the streets, headed for the lodging house. _

"I can't believe ya said that to her!" Jack's eyes were deadly. Cheatah was the closest thing he'd ever had to a family in a long time; she was even more precious to him than David and the Jacob family, simply because around her he didn't have to try to impress anyone or impose upon himself the luxuries of middle class. He could at the end of the day just be himself.

"What, she shouldn't have taken it so damn seriously! It wasn't like I was straight out callin' her a whore, ya know? She just got on my nerves so badly and I had to do _something_!" He crossed his arms rather childishly and scowled, half remorseful and half feeling as if he'd justified himself well.

"Spot, ya just don't think sometimes, do ya?"

The Brooklyn leader's scowl deepened. "What's that s'pose to mean!"

"First of all, calm down. Ya crappy attitude's what put ya in this position in the first place. And secondly, shut up for once and maybe youse'll learn a thing or two."

"Why, Jack, I oughta soak ya 'til ya can't walk, ya lousy" Mid-phrase, he started to rise to his feet and draw back a clenched fist, but Jack too stormed to his feet and glowered at his friend in one last daunting stance.

"Damnit, Spot, just _shut up and listen to me_! She _was_ a whore, alright! Her family totally fell to crap by the time she came to Manhattan. There was no way she could make money but to do what her mother had done for years. If she hadn't sold herself off, she would've ended up starvin' on the streets like the lot of us."

Spot was rendered speechless. Never had it once crossed his mind that perhaps his earlier comment had pricked a certain dormant nerve in the girl. His eyes registered the transgression, and in some sense, he seemed to cower away from himself, disbelieving he'd been the one to remind a fellow newsie of their past. After all, in his lodging house, it was practically a sin to mention the events leading up to one's initiation into the paper peddling world; if someone didn't wish to talk about their past, they weren't forced to.

Jack went on in all his rage. Spot was a laidback heartless joke to begin with, but who knew what he'd done to Cheatah's ego! "Ya know what, just take her back to Manhattan, alright? I don't even know why she moved to Brooky anyway, definitely not to be close to youse. Don't ya ever consider things, Spot? Don't ya ever think 'bout someone other than yourself?" When he received no answer, he heaved a large sigh and shook his head in blatant disappointment. "I'll just go to ya place myself and get her."

"No."

"No?"

Spot sighed. "No." He placed his hat back onto his head, adjusting the sides until it was perfectly fitted about him. "Look, Jack, I don't just think 'bout myself, alright? It's not like I even came here to complain 'bout her or anything. I, I"

"Ya what, Conlon?"

"I actuallyâwell, I knew beforehand how close youse is with her, and I was wonderin' if ya maybe could, uh, ya knowâput in a good word for me?" The irony of the situation couldn't have weighed any more heavily. The sound of a dropping pin could've been registered during the brief conversational hiatus which engulfed the two. Spot cleared his throat to distinguish his terrible embarrassment, his ears hot and red and his cheeks catching up in a matching blush.

Jack, naturally, was more confused than ever. Either he had heard wrong or Spot Conlon was actually falling for a girl who wouldn't give him the time of day even her life depended on it. He started to answer, but stopped short to study his companion's face, trying to detect the signs that would unveil the prank as one big joke. But Spot's expression was more serious than ever, and Jack couldn't help but wonder if the Brooklyn leader had consumed a few bottles of gin before coming to Central Park that afternoon. "What, yaâya like her or somethin'?"

Spot rolled his eyes and groaned. "Ya dense or somethin', Kelly? Yea, I like her. Is that a problem?" And so the notorious Conlon pride returned. It was the quite the sight, however, for as maddened as the boy looked fuming and such with eyes ablaze, he yet maintained a softened persona which made his infatuation evident to those who knew him well.

"I'll see what I can do."

Cheatah consumed massive amounts of alcohol whenever she was upset, and today was no exception. Reclining against one of the windows of the main room in the Brooklyn lodging house, she combed her medium length locks of fiery red hair and gazed out toward the docks in a deep haze. Her fingers loosely grasped the neck of the bottle of gin she'd borrowed from Runner, and her nose occasionally sniffled as she strived to maintain the runny nose she'd acquired from some cold which had befallen her.

She was in a deep, lost thought, her eyes switching back and forth as they surveyed the newsies galloping to and fro upon the wooden structure built aside the East River. They laughed exuberantly, exchanged jokes with hearty delight, and played pranks on each other like children still clinging to the joys of life. She narrowed her emerald eyes at them and sneered. Careless and free-spirited, just like their pompous leader.

Speaking of Spot Conlon, she was obliged to bring to terms his unexplainable and ridiculous attitude as of late. This arrogant ego-inflaming bastard she so loved to despiseâwell, he'd actually been somewhat cordial these past few days. To the point in which it sickened her. He smiled at her every chance he got, paid her compliments, entertained mindless friendly dialogue. She scoffed. Either that boy was in a good mood, or in a good mess. Or maybe even both.

But what the heck. She couldn't honestly admit to herself she didn't enjoy each minute of it. Sure she'd feign annoyance and act like she wanted nothing more than to vomit at the sound of his name, but seeing his ability to don a personality far from blatant stupidity for once actually made her smile. It made her feel something akin toâimportance as well, as if she mattered, as if someone in this God-forsaken city actually cared about her. And that was a feeling she hadn't known in a long time.

All the same, though, it scared her in some regards. She was used to be a loner, to meandering through Brooklyn with a take-no-prisoner fascia and a spiteful demeanor which chastised those who dared mess with her fate. She was used to living life for one, to not having to give the slightest consideration to someone other than herself, to doing whatever she wanted whenever she wanted without worrying about hurting someone else. In all honesty, she couldn't afford to include another in her stone-set schedule.

"Even if I wanted to," she whispered to herself, the words a bit slurred as they left her paled lips. _Did _she want to? Was she really ready for a relationship? Jack certainly seemed to prod her in that direction at least.

_She bolted upright and gaped at him with wide electric green eyes. "He **what**!"_

_Jack tried to remain serious, but at the same time her expression was birthing in him so amused a spirit that he simply had to laugh. Finally composing himself, he fixed his bandana about his neck and cleared his throat as if to go on a tangent from the hilarity of it all. "Yea, can ya imagine? Spot Conlon's actually got it in for someone. Youse!" _

_"But why me! Lord knows I aint been encouraging him." She scratched her head roughly, tangling her fingers with her flaming locks. "He asked me to dance with 'im the other night at Medda's and I cursed 'im out. He offered to sell my papes a few days ago when I was feelin' a bit under the weather, and I told him to go to hell. He even tried to get me to eat chicken soup he had brought back from Tibby's and I swiped it outta his hand and made it spill all over him!" _

_Jack arched an eyebrow at this, and then shook his head with a laugh. "Well, ya know what the say. The more ya hate on a guy with a crush, the harder he'll persist."_

_She still couldn't believe it, though. She couldn't believe the brat actually had a heart in him to dote on someone. She couldn't believe he could even entertain such emotions as consideration, concern, and care. He seemed just as selfish and self-consumed as she was half the time, if not more so! And what had she even done to win his favor anyhow! She'd been a bitter raging spitfire toward him since her first day in Brooklyn, and he'd done well to retaliate in all his malignant wickedness. They were hardcore rivals who thrived upon hurting each other. What in all of God's green goodness had caused Spot Conlon to detach from such villainy? _

_"Maybe at one point or another, he just realized youse was the only girl who ever put up a fight for him, who ever kept him on his feet and challenged him." Jack seemed to see the unasked questions in her eyes and thus tried to pose answers for them. When she didn't respond, he only sighed. "Well, whether ya like it or not, he's plannin' on talkin' to youse about it today. So I'd be prepared to give 'im ya answer." _

Well that was peachy. Not only did she have to receive the news in a gargantuan surplus of shock, now she had to ready herself for how he'd approach her, ask her, and garner her rejection. She fidgeted on the windowsill and stretched out her legs in front of her. Okay, maybe she wouldn't downright reject him, as glorious a victory as that would be for her, but he'd be lucky if she even did so much as smile at him in the least. She rested her head back against the pane of the glass, but soon felt every muscle in her body tense when the front door to the lodging house creaked open on its rusty hinges and bid entrance to a certain Brooklyn newsie she'd been dreading to see since Jack's information session. Tightening her lips and continuing to stare out the window in sheer immobility, she prayed he would simply pass her by.

But as everyone in lower class New York knew, Spot Conlon was a determined bugger, and he'd press on every chance he got before giving up his goals. He sauntered, or at least attempted as much, toward the girl upon which his eyes were dazzled with admiration and leaned against the wall beside her, awkwardly snaking his fingers through his belt loops to give his arms a resting position. He felt like the king of the world, and at the same time the pauper of all things excrement. His namesake and reputation were mighty, but at the same time, his hearty was vulnerable and weightless.

He cleared his throat and looked at Cheatah, waiting for her to acknowledge him. He did this three times, and when it was finally clear she was entirely ignoring him, he pushed himself off the wall and boldly stood right beside her, such that if she turned to stand to her feet, she'd have to push past him first. "I wanted to talk to youse 'bout somethin' I'm sure Jacky-boy has brought up."

"Oh?"

"He told me he'd talk to ya," he said softly, watching her ever so anxiously, noting how she paid him scant attention and instead seemed more preoccupied with those things occurring without the building. "It'sâit's true, in case youse was doubting it or anything. I, Iâya just different, ya know? Ya make, ya make me feel things I haven't felt in a really long time." He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, his heart pounding inside him. _Wow Conlon_, he mused to himself. _Look at yourself! You look like a complete idiot! _

"Oh?"

He clenched his jaw and instantly deemed everything a terrible mistake on his behalf. She apparently didn't even care; he didn't even know if she'd heard a word he had just said! "Ya know what, just forget it. It's fine." He started to walk away, ready to bash half-broken windows with his ever trusty gold-tipped cane, but when he felt a soft cold hand upon his arm, he stopped in his steps and spun back around to find himself staring eye to eye with her, for once their gaze void of hatred.

She smirked at him and sat tall against the window pane as she contemplated for a moment. "If acts of revenge and mischief determine how much ya like someone, and how much ya really wanna be with 'emâI'm afraid, Conlon, that I'm gunna be botherin' ya with pranks for a long long time." Her smirk lengthened into a grin.

Spot's lips sealed out into a grin of their own, his sapphire eyes glistening with pleasure. "C'mere youse," he said to her, holding out his arms, and half-surprised and wholeheartedly completed when she hugged him back.


End file.
